


Un-Death

by curiouslyblessed



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (1931), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Ghouls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyblessed/pseuds/curiouslyblessed
Summary: What if Renfield achieved a different kind of immortality?





	Un-Death

There were two possibilities for R.M. Renfield after his inevitable death and fate had chosen one for him. His eyelids were heavy. Every bone in his body ached with longing to return to that nameless sleep. He felt sure that the worst was yet to come. Just when it seemed like he was drifting back to sleep, he stomach roared with hunger.

His eyes snapped open. He was lying face up in a field of—wheat? flowers? The tall grass swayed around him, brushing at his fingertips and tickling his nose. Above him, the moon shone full and round. He blinked at it. He was dead and yet alive. Had his master's promises finally come true? Was he a vampire?

All doubt was cast from his mind when he caught sight of his hand. What had once been a hand was now a fur-covered paw with long claws sprouting from the end of each finger. He wiggled the claws. Fate had chosen something different for her most unfortunate son. Fate had chosen to make him a ghoul.

* * *

Renfield generally thought of two things: food and revenge. One was simpler than the other. Food, for ghouls, was never in short supply. He only need find a convenient graveyard and he was well provided for. Revenge, on the other hand, was another matter.

Dracula had wronged him—promised him eternal life as one of the undead and never delivered. Or had he? Renfield paused mid-bite of a juicy drumstick. Was this the un-death that Dracula had promised? It couldn't be. He turned to the ghoul on his left.

"How does one become a vampire?"

The ghoul, a sinewy individual wearing glasses and a red vest, set down his supper and pondered the question. "I believe you have to drink the blood of a vampire. Although I'm sure there's something else involved. Vampires are the most untrustworthy of creatures."

"And how does one become a ghoul?"

"Some are born to it—I was. Some are transformed by the act of cannibalism. And some," he trailed off, frowning at Renfield, "some are of so impure a soul that hell itself rejects them."

Renfield wrung his paws self-consciously. "Is there any way to find out which you are?"

"Are you having doubts about your soul, friend?"

"Well," he flattened his ears against his head, "It's just that I never did any of those things. I was born a human. And I never ate human flesh, just a few flies and spiders." He cleared his throat. "And maybe the occasional rat. But I never ate, human." He set the drumstick down. "Not in life, anyways."

"Then you must be impure of soul."

"But I'm not!" Renfield whined. "My master demanded much of me but never my soul."

The ghoul's ears pricked at the mention of a master. "Who was this man?"

He squirmed under the ghoul's piercing gaze. "Mmmbf Mbcla," he mumbled.

"Speak up, friend."

He scratched his snout for a moment before answering. "Count Dracula."

The ghoul cocked his head to one side. "The vampire?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever drink of his blood?"

"Isn't that kind of a personal question?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"...Yes. But what has that got to do with anything?"

"Are you so ignorant about your current state that you don't know where some ghouls come from?"

Renfield blinked owlishly. "Their mothers?"

The ghoul took off his glasses and rubbed his face. "It falls under the 'impure of soul' clause. If you've drunk the blood of a vampire, you're probably not the kind of person St. Peter is going to let into heaven! It's actually one of the more common ways of becoming a ghoul."

"Wait, if that's how you become a ghoul, then how do you become a vampire?"

"No one really knows and the leeches aren't telling. Whatever your master told you, he was lying." The ghoul touched Renfield's shoulder. "My sympathies."

* * *

That was the night that Renfield's desire for revenge bloomed like a fire in his chest. He was going to hunt down Count Dracula and he was going to make him pay. The only trouble was that he had no idea how to go about it. If he contacted Professor Van Helsing, the only person who really knew how to end the vampire, the professor would surely kill him on the spot. He had no doubt that Mr. Harker, Lord Godalming, and Dr. Seward would react similarly. In the end, there was really only one person who would help him.

* * *

He stood on the doorstep of the little cottage, furiously trying to tuck the borrowed shirt into the tattered breeches that he had appropriated from the graveyard. He sniffed the air. They still smelled of the tomb.

Patches, the other ghoul, claimed that all ghouls could take human form at will. Indeed, he'd proved it by showing Renfield his. (A pale youth with eyes blacker than pitch that glared out from behind large, round glasses.) However, shape-shifting took time to master and Renfield wanted his revenge _now_.

So there he stood, on the doorstep of the Harker residence, in clothes stolen from the dead, waiting for Mina Harker to answer his knock.

He tapped his paw on the cobbles. What if a maid answered the door? The Harkers weren't well off, but they were certainly wealthy enough to afford one maid—if not two. Even if it were just someone to answer the door. He wrung his paws. It was a bad idea. Mina would take one look at him and shoot without asking questions.

There was a sound from beyond the door. He stiffened. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. A little boy stood framed in the light.

"Hello?"

"Hello, young master," Renfield rasped, trying to remember what it felt like to speak English. "Is Mrs. Harker at home?"

"Mother?" The little boy frowned up at Renfield.

He tried to smile.

The boy took a quick step back. "Who are you? Why are you calling?"

"My name is Mr. Renfield. I'm calling to talk to her about... a mutual friend. Tell me, what is your name?"

"My name is Quincy. But don't tell mother I told you that—I'm not supposed to talk to strangers or tell them anything about myself."

"A wise practice, Master Quincy. Would you please fetch your mother for me and tell her I'm waiting for her in the back garden?"

* * *

Mrs. Mina Harker was sitting at her desk editing an article for one of the ladies' journals when her son broke in upon her solitude. "Mama! Mama! There's a werewolf in the back garden! He says his name is Mr. Renfield and that you're friends and that he wants to talk to you about someone that you both know and could you please come and meet him in the back garden." He paused. "Please."

A shudder ran up Mina's spine at the sound of the name. "Where did you see this werewolf, Quincy?"

"He knocked at the front door."

"And you didn't invite him in."

He shook his head. "No, I remembered that you and daddy always said to never invite anyone in without your permission."

Her fingers curled around the gilded letter opener on her desk. "Why don't you go up to bed? I'll go outside and see to this werewolf in the back garden."

"I thought you were friends," Quincy said, his eyes fixed on the knife in his mother's hands.

"He lied."

* * *

Renfield occupied his short stay in the Harker's back garden with the careful pruning of Mrs. Harker's prized roses. He carefully plucked the dead bulbs from their stems and brushed the dead leaves away from their roots.

"I see you're still a man of many surprises, Mr. Renfield. Even though you're no longer a man at all."

He spun on his paws, dirt flying everywhere. "Miss Mina," he cried and threw himself at her feet. "Please, Miss Mina, you're my last hope! My last joy! Please." He clawed at the hem of her dress. "You must help me!"

"You're also still the pinnacle of drama. To your feet, Mr. Renfield."

He stood, his back bowed half in fear and half in reverence at her presence. "Miss Mina, I've come to you for help."

"I gathered that. However, before we come to that, I would like to know what has become of you." She ran her eyes over his disheveled appearance. "You smell of the grave and you don't look much better."

"I have been... corrupted. Dracula tainted my blood with his and turned me into this." He gestured at himself. "I am a ghoul. A hideous creature, doomed to be forever unloved."

"Do stop feeling sorry for yourself, Renfield. It won't do you any good." She straightened her cuffs. "A ghoul, eh? That's an interesting development. Now, to the point, why have you come?"

"For your help."

"You've said that. I want specifics."

"I've come for revenge."

She gripped the letter opener. "Against whom?"

"Dracula, of course." He stretched to his full height, towering over her slight form. "I'm going to rip him limb from limb for what he's done to us— to me— to you." Renfield leaned over. He brushed his muzzle against her hair. "He's wronged so many people— destroyed so many lives. He deserves death. And I want to bring it to his doorstep."

Mina dropped her little knife and took his paws in her hands. "Renfield, the evil has already been defeated. It wasn't long after... After you died. Quincy Morris drove a stake through his heart. He's dead."

He stared at her hands, unable to speak.

"Renfield?"

"How am I to atone for my sins if I cannot undo the evil I have done? How?"

She touched his face.

"Killing Dracula was my last hope for eternal peace. I don't want to be a ghoul. They're not very nice." He sniffed. "St. Peter won't let me in if I'm a ghoul."

"Instead of mourning your humanity, why don't you embrace this new way of life and use it to help others?"

"Do you think that would work? Do you really think it will bring me peace?"

"I can't speak for your soul." She brushed a tear off his muzzle. "But it might do your mind some good. There are many evils in this world to be defeated. You don't think Dracula was the only vampire, do you?"

"I suppose not."

"Then there you are. You can become the first vampire hunting ghoul." She glanced at the house. "We still dabble in hunting. It would be useful to have someone on the inside who could scout for us and bring us information. I'm afraid Jonathan or I would stick out in a cemetery."

He nodded. "You're far too beautiful and kind for this sort of thing, Miss Mina. I wouldn't have you dirty your hands for the world. I'll be your scout. I'll track down every vampire in the world if I have to and send their addresses to Professor Van Helsing! Yes, that's what I'll do!"

Renfield pressed his nose to Mina's cheek. "Thank you, Miss Mina, I knew you'd have the answers."

"You're welcome, Mr. Renfield. I knew you wouldn't let us down."

He squeezed her hands one last time and disappeared into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly written because I brought up the idea of Renfield as a ghoul to @majora-the-trekking-hobbit (on tumblr, she's amazing, follow her if you have one and you love old movies) and she was delighted with the idea. That, plus a healthy dose of NaNo prep-crastination, brought this fic into the world. Will I continue it? Who knows. But for now, it stands alone.


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